


My Crazy Ex-Boyfriend

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Series: Professor Sam Campbell AU [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, F/M, Professor Sam Campbell, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Campbell meets the reader’s ex-boyfriend, Michael. Part of my Professor Campbell series, a spin-off of my Professor Winchester series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Crazy Ex-Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> I pictured Michael as Matt Cohen. I love Matt Cohen, so no offense is meant toward him. I needed an antagonist.

Three weeks. Had it really only been three weeks? It had been a whirlwind, those weeks together. Sam was sweet, attentive and definitely the best lover you’d ever had. Shit, he was the best boyfriend you’d ever had. Not that the two of you had made it official in any way, it was more of an unspoken agreement.

You’d spent as much time as possible together over the last few weeks, Sam would come in on the nights you had to work, you would get up early to go grab breakfast with him, anything to spend extra time together. It felt right, natural, perfect. You were falling for the gorgeous college professor and you were falling hard. You refused to examine your feelings too closely, you just chose to enjoy your time with Sam.

You grabbed four bottles of liquor from the shelves in the storage closet, pushed the door open with your hip and hurried back to the main part of the bar. You were putting them away, dusting as you went, when a pair of Converse clad feet appeared beside you.

“Hey, boss,” you heard from above.

“Charlie, don’t call me that,” you grumbled as you stood up. “I’m just...me. Your friend, okay?”

“Sorry,” she laughed. “Are you expecting it to be busy tonight or something?” She took in the extra alcohol and glasses spread around the bar.

“Actually, yeah,” you answered. “Day after Thanksgiving, everyone’s exhausted from shopping and dealing with their relatives, they want a drink. A lot of drinks. Now, stop asking questions and help me get the bar ready.”

“Sure, boss,” Charlie laughed, scurrying away to avoid the damp cloth you threw at her head.

With Charlie’s help, you made quick work of setting up the bar for the influx of patrons you expected. It was still early, not even three in the afternoon when you finally unlocked the front doors.

Business started slow, but picked up as the night wore on. It was steady, an almost constant stream of people coming in and out of the bar.

“Hey, Y/N,” Charlie said on one of her many trips behind the counter. “Sam coming in tonight?”

You glanced at the clock, surprised that it had gotten so late. You weren’t able to help the smile you felt crossing your face as you nodded. “Yeah, he went to see Dean, then he was coming in.” Sam had been in almost every night since you’d started seeing each other. He’d sit at the end of the bar with a beer, either grading a stack of papers or with his nose buried in a book. Sometimes an hour or more would go by before you would even get a chance to talk, but you loved having him there.

“Speak of the devil,” Charlie nudged you with her elbow.

Sam was coming through the door, pushing Dean in front of him. He steered his friend toward a table near the bar, forcing him to sit. Normally that would be Charlie’s table, but she left it for you, knowing you would want to be the one to help the two professors. You grabbed two beers and made your way through the crowd to Sam.

You stopped short when Sam met you between the tables. He leaned down, his hand on your waist, and kissed your cheek.

“Hey,” you smiled. You peeked around him at Dean, who was slumped in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table, glaring at anyone who came within five feet of him. “How’s he doing?” you asked.

“Not so great,” Sam shook his head. “She...uh, she went over there last night after she left here. Um...stuff...happened. He was drunk and he was a dick. He said it was a catastrophe.” He looked pointedly at the beers in your hand. “Can you bring us a couple of Cokes?”

“Of course,” you replied. “He is mad at you?”

“He was,” Sam shrugged. “But we’re good.”

“I’ll be right back,” you said. You rose up on your tiptoes and kissed him, then returned to the bar, put the beers back in the cooler and filled two glasses with Coke. You hurried back across the room, fearing Dean would bolt out the door if it took too long. You set the drinks on the table, trying your best to give Dean a reassuring smile.

Dean eyed the drink suspiciously. “There better be rum in that Coke,” he grumbled.

You rifled Dean’s hair, drawing a grimace-like smile from him. “There isn’t,” you reply. “You’re too grumpy for alcohol. Drink the Coke and smile. I’ll get you two some nachos.” You gave Sam’s hand a quick squeeze before returning to your spot behind the bar.

Business had picked up considerably, so you sent Charlie to Sam and Dean’s table with the nachos while you made drinks for the incoming customers. You’d settled into a relatively quick routine when a familiar, yet unwanted, voice called your name.

You turned around to see your ex-boyfriend, Michael, standing near the end of the bar. He was smiling at you, You swallowed around the lump that had suddenly appeared in your throat and made your way over to him.

You had broken up with Michael almost six months ago. It had been messy and horrible, one of the worst things you’d ever gone through. And now Michael was standing in your bar, despite the fact that it violated the order of protection.

“What are doing here?” you asked. Your stomach was in knots and your hands were shaking. You felt like throwing up.

“Well, hello to you, too, Y/N,” Michael grinned, his alcohol scented breath washing over you. Of course he was drunk.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Michael,” you said, hating the way your voice shook.

“I just wanted to see you,” he said. “The holidays and all. Made me miss my girl.” He took a step closer to you.

“I’m not your girl,” you snapped. “Now get the hell out of my bar before I call the police.” You stepped backward, bumping into the bar top.

Michael reached out and grabbed your upper arm, pulling you toward him. “I think it’s time we stopped with this bullshit, Y/N. I’m tired of waiting for you to come to your senses. Drop that stupid protection order so can get back together.”

You tried to jerk your arm free of Michael’s grip, but his fingers dug painfully into your arm, holding you close to him. “Let me go,” you whispered. You didn’t want to cause a scene, God knew the people in this bar had seen enough of you and Michael fighting. More than enough.

“Please, Michael,” you begged. The fear, so familiar, was welling up inside you, pushing you toward panic. “Don’t do this.” You shot a quick look over your shoulder at Sam, but he was engrossed in conversation with Dean, not looking your direction. If you were lucky, you could get Michael out of the bar with Sam none the wiser. He didn’t need to know about that part of your life.

“You have about two seconds to let go of me before I scream,” you said, sure he could see through the lie.

“You’re bluffing,” Michael scoffed. “You’re not going to do shit.”

You put your hand against his chest, pushing him away at the same time that you tried to yank your arm free. He released you and stumbled back about a foot, anger flashing in his eyes. He came at you, put two hands on your shoulders and shoved you as hard as he could. You fell backward, trying to catch yourself on the edge of the bar, your arms flailing. Your hand hit several glasses, sending them to the floor, the sound of breaking glass silencing the talk in the bar. Your back hit the counter and you slid to the floor, tears of pain filling your eyes. As you struggled to stand, two sets of legs appeared in front of you.

Thanks to the tears, your vision was blurred and you felt slightly nauseous, a typical feeling when you were around Michael. You heard both Sam and Dean yelling, the sound of scuffling feet, then the bar door opened and Dean was shoving Michael out the door.

“Y/N,” Sam said, kneeling beside you. “Are you okay?” He put his arm around your waist and helped you to your feet. He led you to the nearest stool, lifting you and setting you on it with ease. He stood in front of you, holding both of your hands in one of his, gently rubbing your arm. “Who the hell was that?”

“Michael, my crazy ex-boyfriend,” you answered. “I’m okay, Sam. You need to go check on Dean. Michael’s...he’s...not a good person.”

Sam nodded, gestured to someone, then disappeared out the door. Charlie was at your side in an instant, shoving a bottle of water into your hands. You watched as several people ran out the door to see what was happening. You tried to stand up, follow them, make sure that Sam and Dean were both okay, but Charlie pushed you back down.

“Stay put,” she ordered. “They’ll be fine.”

You could hear a lot of yelling and the sound of a fight, but Charlie refused to let you go outside. Nearly ten minutes passed before the door opened and people began spilling into the bar. You looked over the crowd, anxiously awaiting the return of Sam. When he finally came back in, you shot off the barstool into his arms, mumbling an apology over and over.

“Hey, hey,” Sam soothed, lowering you back onto the stool. “It’s okay. Why are you apologizing?”

“I didn’t tell you about Michael and he’s so fucked up -” you stammered.

Sam cut you off with a quick kiss, folding you into his arms, rubbing a hand up and down your back. Just being in his arms made you feel better.

“Can I get some ice?” Dean grumbled.

He was standing behind Sam, holding a hand to his head, grimacing. Blood was dripping from his nose, his lip was cut, and he had a cut on the side on his temple. His eye had a bump beneath it, which appeared to be swelling.

“Oh, Jesus, Dean,” you said, jumping off the stool and hurrying to his side. “Charlie, get him some ice.”

* * *

 

Despite his injuries, Dean was apparently better off than Michael. The description the witnesses gave of the fight all favored Dean. He had pushed Michael out of the bar and told him to leave. Michael refused and lunged at Dean. The fight had ensued, with Dean doing his best to defend himself and keep Michael out of the bar. After Michael had broken a car window by punching it, he’d taken off. The police arrived a few minutes after Dean and Sam had gone back into the bar, taking statements and investigating the scene. There wasn’t much they could do after the fact, though they did offer to patrol the area near the bar more often, as well as stop in occasionally, in the hopes that it would discourage Michael from returning. Once they left, Sam had insisted you go home and, with Charlie’s added encouragement, you’d agreed.

Dean asked you a couple of pointed questions as Sam drove him back to his house, mainly about who he’d gotten into a fight with and why. Sam tried to silence him with a quiet “Dean” muttered under his breath, but you leaned forward and put a hand on his arm.

“It’s okay, Sam,” you said. “He got in a fight for me, I think he deserves to know why.”

“Damn straight,” Dean muttered.

You sat back in your seat, staring at the dashboard from your spot in the backseat. You took a deep breath, wondering where you should start and how well this would go.

“Michael’s my ex-boyfriend,” you explained. “We met at the bar, before I owned it, before my parents left for Florida, while I was still waitressing. We hit it off, started dating. The first time he hit me was about six weeks later.”

Sam shot you a glance in the rearview mirror, his forehead furrowed in anger. Dean’s hand tightened noticeably on the console where it had been resting.

Before either of them said anything, you continued. “He apologized, begged for my forgiveness, swore it would never happen again. I believed him. We stayed together, tried to work it out. He didn’t hit me again and I figured it was over. Things were good, really good, so good that we moved in together, right after we celebrated our seven month anniversary. We hadn’t even been living together for a month when he hit me again. I asked him to leave, he refused. We got in a huge fight, a fight that landed me in the hospital. My family helped me get an order of protection and helped me get him out of the apartment. That was almost six months ago. The last time I heard from him was the beginning of September. Until today.” You shrugged and looked down at your hands twisting nervously in your lap. You always felt weak and vulnerable when you talked about your relationship with Michael, but never more so than you felt with Sam watching you from the front seat.

It was completely silent in the car as Sam pulled into Dean’s driveway and shut off the engine. Dean stepped out, pushed forward the seat and helped you from the car.

“Well, I’m glad I kicked his ass,” Dean said. “I just wish I could have done more.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” you said, squeezing Dean’s hand. “I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You didn’t do anything, Y/N,” he mumbled. “That guy is a dick. I’m not going to stand by while some asshole shoves my best friend’s girlfriend around.”

“Or let his best friend help,” Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

“Didn’t want to see you get hurt,” Dean laughed, clapping Sam on the shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going inside, put some ice on my face and wallow in my own misery for a while.”

“Dean -” Sam had said, reaching for his friend.

“No need to thank me, Sammy,” Dean grinned. “That’s what friends are for.” He gingerly kissed your cheek before cutting across the grass and going into his house.

Sam held the door for you as you got back into his car. He climbed behind the wheel, laced his fingers through yours and started the car. You drove in silence to your apartment, chewing at your lip the entire way, worried about how Sam felt about what you had revealed. You didn’t like that he hadn’t said anything, it was stressing you out. No matter what anyone told you, you felt responsible for Michael’s behavior.

Sam seemed to hover over you all the way into your building and into your apartment. He didn’t really relax until the door closed behind the two of you.

“Look, why don’t you go find a movie or something on Netflix and I’ll make you some tea,” he said, pulling you into your arms and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He turned and headed for the kitchen, yanking his jacket off as he walked.

You went down the hallway to your bedroom, changed into some sweats and a t-shirt Sam had left the last time he came over, then went back to the living room. You sat on the loveseat, wrapped your arms around your legs and rested your head on your knees. You thought you were okay, that you had yourself under control, until you started to shake and tears started to slide down your cheeks.

“Oh, shit, Y/N,” you heard Sam mutter. He was at your side in a second, setting the cup of tea in his hand on the table and pulling the quilt off the back of the couch. He wrapped it around you and pulled you into his lap. He ran his hand up and down your back as he held you, his chin resting on the top of your head.

Sam let you get it all out, hugging you to his chest and murmuring sweet, nonsensical words to you. Once you finally stopping shaking, he handed you the warm mug of tea, waiting to press a kiss to your lips after you had taken several sips.

“Sam, I -” you breathed.

But he cut you off with a finger to your lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “I’m not afraid of some crazy ex, and I swear to God I will never let him hurt you again.” His arms tightened momentarily around your waist, then he leaned around you, picked up the remote and turned on the TV. He flipped through your list on Netflix, finally settling on one of your favorite shows.

“You don’t have to watch Gilmore Girls with me,” you smiled, wiping away your tears.

“Nah, I don’t mind,” he said. He kicked his feet up on your coffee table and laid back. “You know when I was younger people used to tell me I looked like that kid that works in the store. I never saw it though.”

You turned around to look at him, pretending to examine him closely. “Nope, don’t see it,” you shrugged. You sipped your tea as you snuggled up next to him. You felt better than you had in a long time, thanks to Sam. You only wished you weren’t terrified of losing everything.

 


End file.
